Route to a Gang War
by Sid Hawk
Summary: A gang member wakes up to a whole lot of crap that he doesn't need. Why didn't he just stay in bed? Rated T for cursing and violence. Genre is DramaComedyAction
1. Grafitti of the Mind

**Route to a Gang War  
****By Sid Hawk**

**DISCLAIMER: I don't own anything that has to do with any of the Grand Theft Auto series. Rockstar Games, Rockstar North, and Take Two Interactive Software, Please DO NOT SEW!**

**CHAPTER 1: Graffiti of the Mind**

On a dark street-corner in Vice City, an old man lies down on the ground. It was 2 am, and no one was awake. Only the man, picking at a scab, was stirring.  
Or so everyone thought.  
Immediately, the man was picked up by the most incredible force known to him. He couldn't see what was holding him by the shirt, for his eyes were closed out of fear, and defenselessness. He was punched once, twice, thrice, and so on until he didn't dare resist the force of his pain.  
He woke about an hour later, and immediately noticed all his money was gone. He searched for his wallet, checking the same dumpster three times. Finally, as he gave up he looked into a piece of shattered glass, and saw that he was beaten senseless by an amazing power.  
Finally realizing he had been mugged, he knew it was over. As his blood oozed away, so did his hope.  
He needed to begin begging all over again.

I woke up, and saw that my house was broken into.  
"Damn it," I muttered, "Third time this month. I'm really starting to get tired of this guy for taking all my stuff."  
Luckily, my bed, covers, sheets, and pillow was still there. All he took was some money and jewelry. On the desk was the same note I had seen all 3 times I was robbed:  
"_Only Thievery"  
_This man seemed a bit clever, only stealing little bits at a time, as if all he really needed was enough of it to satisfy himself for a week or two. But as time flew, he would come back again, needing more. His weakness was also his upper hand. For taking so little at a time was so clever, yet kind of dull. For I _could_ get a new security system. Or I _could _beat his ass on my own. It really didn't matter, I hope he enjoys it, cause I really don't need that much of it.  
Getting out of bed, I began to brush my teeth, and thought of the same thing as every morning.  
"_I wonder what she's doing right now."  
_Sheila, my ex-girlfriend has been gone for weeks, and every morning I think of her, and if she's ok. I know we didn't work out that well and we got into so many fights, but for some small reason, we just felt…right.  
I popped into the shower and began to wash my back, remembering all the good times we had…yes, we bathed together, and ate together…but all those times were gone. Shattered.  
The hope bled from me that one day she would be back. But I will try to work this out of my head, I thought.  
Arriving at the alley, I sat down, waiting for the others. They always arrive one at a time; first Jason, then Steve, and lastly, Derek. They all carried the same thing, a 9mm semi-automatic hand-gun. I always seemed to wonder why I was the only one to use an Uzi.  
Finally, our leader came. He carried a Stubby Shot-gun. I looked at him, immediately waiting for orders.  
He paced…and paced…and paced some more. He seemed to be thinking extremely, extremely hard.  
"Look," he finally spoke, "Jetz are all over town today, increasing their name and their reputation. They have many more people, because almost everything is their turf now. Our mission today is for all of you to spray-paint over their logos and get more turf."  
Whoa…simple…  
"Stan (me), I want you to make sure that everyone here stays out of sight of the Jetz. If any of you are seen spray-painting over theirs, they will make sure you are dead by sundown. "Steve! You and Jason stay together, spray-painting in the southern part of town.  
"Derek! Stay with Stan, he's very good at graffiti. You boys are in the up-town region. As for me, I'll handle the central part of Los Santos.  
"Ready, boys? Meet back here by 3pm. Let's go!"  
We all split up in separate directions. Derek followed me to a different street, immediately entering Up-town. Steve and Jason went off into the complete opposite direction. I already saw the spray-painted logo of the J3Tz right on the wall next to me, and so I quickly spray-painted right over it.  
_H3T_  
Yeah…heat. Greatest name we could come up with. I heard a gun-shot at my right. Looking over, I saw a Jet. He must have seen my act of vengeance. And for a second act of vengeance, I pulled my Uzis on him. About 3 seconds later, we were off in a separate way, hoping there were no witnesses to the shooting. Luckily, my Uzis were silenced.  
Unfortunately, his 9mm wasn't. We stole a police car around the back of a donut shop and drove off, listening closely to the radio.

…

And there it was. _"There has been a report on a shooting somewhere in the Up-town Los Santos region. Be advised, there is a deceased man at the scene."  
_BANG! It hit us like a bullet, because it was a bullet. When we shook our heads and took our attention away from the radio there was a Jet shooting for us.  
Derek pulled a 9mm drive-by. Thankfully, there was no screaming from the victim this time. Again, we turned our attention to the police radio, parked in a deserted ally-way. No report…  
For a split second, I looked away, only to find another graffiti mark. "Here." I said, and we got out of the car. I ran up to the graffiti and sprayed, once again, right over it.  
_H3T_  
We began to walk away from the car, that way there was no evidence to what happened. We continued to walk when I heard another gun-shot. But this time, it was way more powerful. Not a "Bang!" More like a "KABANG!"  
Fortunately, it was just the leader's shotgun. He ran into our ally and pointed his Stubby right at us.  
"GET THE FUCK BACK!" he shouted.  
"Take it easy, it's us!" Derek replied.  
"Oh, thank God it's you!" he said, lowering his weapon, "Help."  
We turned the corner, greeted by at least a dozen Jetz. I drew out my Uzi and Derek pulled his 9mms. As we shot, a few things ran through my mind.  
_What about Steve and Jason?  
__How are we going to pull ourselves out of this muck?  
__What am I doing here, anyway?  
__Am I out of ammo?  
_As a few more shots were fired, I heard an abnormally loud grunt from behind me.  
The leader! I looked at him, and he was losing life. I continued shooting and took out the last Jet without looking at him, for all my focus was on the leader.  
I looked at him take his last breaths…

And his life flashes before his very eyes  
FLASH  
"_Jimmy, get on your tricycle."  
_FLASH  
"_Ha, ha, ha! I didn't know fire-crackers exploded _THAT_ bad!"  
_FLASH  
"_Are you sure you don't want me to wear rubber?"  
_FLASH  
"_THANKS TO YOU, I'M A FUCKING FATHER, NOW!"  
_FLASH  
"_Ready, boys? Meet back here by 3pm. Let's go!"  
_He took one last look at Derek, and his head fell. The first thing I thought was _Who's going to be the new leader?  
_I decided to look through his pockets or something, to see if there were last wishes or his giving. I found in his back pocket, a paper that said _"To Stanly…"  
_This'll have to do, but for now, we're going back to one of our turfs.


	2. Alex Wren's Disguise

A/N: this is finally up, sorry for the delay, especially to Kris. Neway, enjoy, and if you have any ideas, CALL MEH!

ROUTE TO A GANG WAR:

Chapter II:

Alex Wren's Disguise

The man was sitting alone, holding up a can of coins to any random person to walk by, getting smug looks from most people, considering most people in San Andreas were assholes that always decided they were too rich to give up their money. The man continued to beg and all he got after his first day was $3.67, not nearly enough to get him _anything_. He sighed, and hoped it would all be worth it someday.

I came home and sat at the table, with the note in my hands, under my cote making sure no one saw it. I looked again on the letter.

To Stanley… 

I tore it open, struggling a bit at first, so by using my teeth.

_Stanley---_

_If you are reading this, then you've done great, man. I knew I could count on you to be witty enough to take this out of my back pocket. I now hope you will only make sure to get this list of this done._

_For you, I leave a Colt and an assault rifle, along with my entire secret stash of money ($30,000) behind my desk, which you may use this to buy better weapons, or anything else you need. Clothes, anything, really. Doesn't matter. It's what money is for, especially such a vast amount. For the others, you may give them more missions since now, you are now in charge. Make sure they don't fuck things up, either. It pisses me off when I give something to someone and they don't do it right._

_OK you may think this all sounds fine and dandy but there is ONE CATCH. You have to kill someone for me. Below is a picture of him, pasted to this paper. I have attempted to kill him many times but failed. I know since you are better than me, you can take him down. Now go…I leave you a sniper rifle in the drawer of my desk, folded up nicely for you, use that…that's what _I_ tried to use. Now, without further delay, you must go and kill Alex J. Wren._

"Well Jesus fucking Christ Jim!" I thought to myself. "If I am supposed to kill _the_ Alex J. Wren, I don't need a fucking picture. Well… Nothing else I can do than … well _do_ it."

I was walking out of the house with the stuff and saw the guys watching TV. I told them I was going out for lunch and all they did was wave and mumble. "Bah screw 'em, I'm out." I thought.

I came out of a store an hour or so later with new clothes, which I bought with the money. I used this in order to disguise myself as someone that wasn't in a gang. I looked good, with a white T-Shirt covered over with a black leather jacket and some green cargo-pants. I must say myself, I look really fuckin' good.

You may wonder why I freaked earlier about Alex Wren, well that's cause he was one of the most famous hitmen in all of Liberty City, until he moved to San Andreas, in which time they say he "disappeared" from Liberty. He was one of the most stealthy and silent hitmen in the entire city, and he had more than 15 successful contracts in a row. That's when he got tired of it, deciding to quit. I come in at the part where he's a disgruntled civilian, being an asshole to everyone and making sure he was the loudest, most annoying jerk off in the entire city of SA. You can probably guess why, as well. See, after leaving LC he wanted to forget _EVERYTHING_. So he changed his looks, his ways, and his voice (by using some useful-in-that-occasion drugs) in order to cover up his memories of his past self.

He still couldn't hide the fact that he stuck out like a sore thumb, Hawaiian shirt, blue jeans, and I may say the shirt looks like shit anyway. But, meh, everyone has a style, so…whatever. It's not the clothes that matter, it's only if their they're covered in blood or not by the time I'm finished with this little side-dish, the main course being the gang, obviously.

So I grabbed my sniper and loaded it up. 3 bullets, in case the first shot missed, in which it _never_ does anyway. But it's good to be safe. I entered my car, and took my cigar out of my mouth, tossing it to the ground, as it burned into ashes as the sun blared onto it like the fiery burn of love.

Love…yes again, I thought of what she was doing…and hoped still I would someday see Sheila… but no time for it now, have to go assassinate.

I still had lots of time to kill so I decided to leave my gun on the dashboard of my car, and after driving a few miles, went into a Cluckin' Bell for something to eat. I ordered a few big meals, just to make sure that when I was blown to shit by Alex, I was going to be able to see my lunch, laugh my ass off, and die, happily.

I was eating and something outside began to blare. Gunshots. I decided to pull out a couple of 9-mm's and help out a bit. I got outside and saw what looked a bit like Hell, Satan, Anarchy and Armageddon in a vicious scrap. Thank god it was only in the parking lot. It was a nice little war between the Ballas and the Jetz.

I wanted to do something about this, but Ballas hated me and so did Jetz. So…which to help? I decided I could pick off a few if I grabbed the sniper from my car. I did, and it was a good thing, too, because right afterwards, I climbed to the roof of the Bell and BLAM! There goes my ride. But hey, there are plenty of cars in the city. I could take one. When I was up there the Ballas were winning. Well, this looks unfair…so I picked off three Ballas, knowing I had 1 more bullet to spare. I was relieved when it was over and no one noticed I had helped. In fact, every one of the Jetz held up one fellow, thinking it was _him_ that took out those 3 people.

Now, about that car…

I arrived an hour later at Alex's mansion. Mr. Wren's car would be pulling in any minute now, because this is when he is usually sighted home. I decided to wait a while in a bush, with my sniper. I sat there casually, smoking my cigar, and keeping the scope to my eyes. I narrowed my eyelids so I could focus only on what was in front of me.

Suddenly the car rolled up. I got ready… "This is it," I thought, "One bullet, I _HAVE_ to make this work." He came out of his car and went to check his mail, when he looked over, and spotted me. He _actually_ spotted me. Can you believe that? One in a MILLION odds. So I came out and pointed the sniper straight at him, when all he did was raised his hands up.

"Ah, Mr. Wren." I began, and paused a moment to think of something smart to say, "Let's just face the music. You had a mansion, the women, the cars, and the money, not to mention. And now, you must face that your time has come. Well, I know I know, you're probably thinking, 'what? I'm only 42!" And yes, I can believe that, because obviously there is a lot you haven't done yet. But, everything happens for a reason my friend, as a good buddy of mine, The Truth, once said. And---bah! Forget it, you probably want me to just shoot you, and knowing you, all you wanted when you first looked down that end of a sniper rifle, was an extra pair of pants, right? So…pleasure to meet you, Mr. Wren. Godspeed." I pulled the trigger.

_Click_

Oh, shit. Suddenly everything was slow motion, as Alex began taking out his DE, I dropped my sniper and pulled out my twin Uzi's, diving behind a flipped lawn chair. I felt all the bullets penetrate the chair. I began to fire wildly over the chair and as I was almost empty of my clips,

"OW, SHIT!" came his slightly raspy, slightly scruffyish voice. "Okay kid, Okay! You got me, just…ummm…what the fuck to I do…TRUCE!"

I climbed back over and went over to him. I pointed the gun to his head and said, "I'm sorry, but this is strictly business."

"If you shoot me, you're killing the wrong target." He yelled to me. I looked at him, puzzled, and lowered my gun.

"Want the truth?" he asked. I nodded. "My name isn't Alex Wren and all those tales about me weren't true. Well, except for the money, the mansion and the ladies…but _anyway_, my name is Tommy Vercetti, and I want you to work for me." I scoffed. "Me, work for you? After I almost just _killed_ you? Hah!"

"You're really intimidating." He said to me. "I could use you, and I need a fellow shooter to help me on a few last errands before my big suicide. Come, come."

I, slightly puzzled, followed him, and then he showed my around his tiny three-bedroom house. "You see, after a big assassination of my lawyer by a man named Salvatore Leone, I was failing. Thankfully, some 'Claude Speed' guy did my doings some years ago anyway, but I still went down to shit. My car's a crappy barf-yellow fuckin' Oceanic for god's sake. And my house is tiny, and my girlfriend, Mercedes, died recently, in order to get payback on _me_ from Joey Leone. I lost the lady, the cars, and the money. So here I am in this shithole trying to live, engagement ring _still_ on."

This touched my in some way that I just needed to help him. I nodded for him to go on, because I knew there was more to this, or else he wouldn't have offered me this job in the first place. He took a breath…

"If you can help me with these last errands then I can help _you_ to the top." I didn't exactly know what he meant, nor did I care, but I thought this'd be interesting. I nodded, "when do I begin?"

"Tomorrow, now go home before I change my mind and kill yo--- on second thought, there's no need to resort to violence, just put your gun away and _leave._"

I did.

I got home later and saw that everyone was gone, and there was a note on the door. "LUNCH."

…Okay.

I went to sleep on the couch and woke up the next day.


	3. The Power of Money

A/N: Any comments or suggestions (hem hem KRIS!) e-mail me: to a Gang War 

**Chapter III:**

**Power of Money**

An old man was sitting on the sidewalk, with 20 bucks, smiling slightly at his making, although still holding the fact in his mind that he was a complete FAILURE. But, he tried hard and hoped one day he would hit the jackpot and someone would give him enough to get him back on his feet.

* * *

I woke early the next day _on the couch_, with a nice little Uzi in my left pocket. I knew just by looking at Tommy's home that it was going to be pretty ugly when my first mission started off, and judging by his story, this guy wasn't clean. Tommy Vercetti…hmm…

The funny thing is I've heard of him as well. He was a lot like Alex Wren I used to think, but now I realize, duh, he _is_ Alex Wren. So I was just walking out the door and a car stops at my front lawn. I see people look at me and pull up their guns.

"Oh shit!" I screamed and then jumped back inside. A drive-by took place there at that moment, and at least 20 shots rang out. I let them drive off, while still lying down on the ground and then got outside and got in my car. My phone rang.

"What?" I said, frantically looking around to see if they were still there.

"Yeah…" came the reply, "So sorry 'bout that one."

"Vercetti!" I said, "What the fuck, man?"

"Yeah I was kind of in a little 'thing' with them and they were torturing and I kind of let it slip out that you were my retainer."

"Wait, wait, wait!" I stopped him, "Who the hell said I was your retainer now?"

"My good buddy George Washington and his 50,000 twins."

"…"

"You still---"

"Yeah, yeah, sorry…just…50,000 dollars is a lot on the phone."

"Yeah, well you got to get to my house in one piece first in order to get this 50 grand."

"Okay, okay. Well, just wait for me."

"Heh, I have a choice?" He hung up.

I was on my way and the guys pulled up behind me.

"Oh…" I got a grenade. There was no one ahead of me and it was a perfectly straight road, so I put my head out the window. "GIVE IT A REST!" I tossed the grenade. It landed through the windshield and they spun out into an alley and blew up, although I'm pretty sure I saw one jump out. No matter. We were going 75; he was either dead or seriously hurt.

* * *

The cops were all over it, but I was at Vercetti's house already.

"Alright, now that you're here, we can talk business." He said to me, "So your first 'hit' is on a man named Carl Johnson. He was a big threat in my mind for a long time, and he lives in a house on Grove St, just south of here. When you get there, I want you to take these," he thrust me a couple of Molotov Cocktails, "and torch his house."

"Hah! So you say he is a 'threat'? Now, tell me the real story of why you want him dead."

"Okay. Joey Leone didn't really kill my girlfriend, Mercedes. Carl did. It was a little side-job he got from Phil Cassidy. Yeah, I don't know why either. He used to be my closest buddy."

"Okay, I got you. I'll torch his place." I began to walk out. "Uhh…by the way, what the hell happened to your arm?" I pointed to his sling.

"What, you kidding?" he looked at me, puzzled. "You shot me you dumb shit!"

"Oh…oh yeah. Okay, I'll be back soon."

I parked around the back of the house and looked at the picture that was left with me in the piece of shit puke-yellow Oceanic. It was the place, alright. I grabbed my Molotov Cocktails and snickered: piece of cake. Hopefully he was home, though. I looked inside and could see a distinct outline of a tall, strong man. Hope that's him.

I grabbed the cocktail and thrust it through the window, hard as I could. I was used to this, thankfully, being an Anarchist and all. I heard screaming from the inside so I grabbed some more. I hurled them in one by one until every window was filled. Occasionally I missed, but, still, that would make it look more like it was a natural fire _around_ the house.

The cops were all over it immediately, so I hid on the freeway sidewalk. As soon as the fire truck left and everything was clean, I tried to spot the body-bags. I saw one, two…three, even. Good. One of them was _bound_ to be him, so I was happy about that. The ambulance rushed off as did the cops, and I got back in my car and drove to the crusher.

* * *

I arrived back at Vercetti's an hour later, shouting for my money. I looked around, no one home, but a brief case next to the TV. I opened it, and sure enough, the money was there. I took the brief case and where it was placed left a note written "Thank you! Your friend, Stan Lacrosse"

I got a call from someone and it was my fellow, Jason.

"HELP! ITS JUST ME, THE REST OF THEM ARE DEAD! GROVE ST! HELP!"

I got back in my car and headed right back to where I headed 3 hours ago. I was frantic, driving fast, swerving, weaving in and out of cars and finally got there, just in time to see Jason dead. He was burned. BURNED to death, and the irony made me wonder what _really _happened. I got out and looked around and saw someone run off. Tall, and black. Not to mention kind of strong, but his hair was covered by a hat. I knew by the way he was dressed in green that he was a Family, avenging another Family's death.

I followed him to the highway and saw him there, crying. I pulled out my gun silently and pointed it directly at him, but I couldn't bring myself to kill him, but I tried to think about what he did to Jason. I opened my eyes again and realized I was crying, too. I couldn't believe it, but I thought he deserved it for killing 3 of my best friends. I whistled.

He looked at me.

It was the guy who managed to jump out of the car that blasted at me before it blew up…

"You deserve it." I said.

_Bang!

* * *

_

And that's how Shaun "Sweet" Johnson died. A gunshot wound right in his heart, but the bullet was never found, dug too deep in the soil behind him as I shot him in the throat. I was safe, so I smiled, but still cried. Cried out of anger and sadness for my friends, but of happiness of being respected way more in my reputation because I shot him. My name was known around the hood now. I would be among the best of the best.

The gods.


	4. The Gods

**Route to a Gang War**

**Chapter 4**

**The Gods**

**Disclaimer: blah, blah, blah. Don't own gta so just read this p.o.s.**

The old man rubbed his eyes and sat up, looking around. He found nothing very exciting where he was sitting and he had no where else to go. So he decided to walk around the street and look for someone to give him some money. Little did he know, at 3:30 PM, he would hit the biggest amount of big he'd ever achieved.

I awoke and looked over at my lamp. Beside it was a note. And my wallet was gone.

"_Only Thievery."_

God damn it! This mother fucker was getting on my last nerve! I didn't have enough shit to deal with already! Hah! I was in the tightest bit of tight I've ever experienced.

Well, for one, being among the best of the best isn't always a great thing. You might have the shit, the respect, the money (actually that was slowly oozing away from me, as you can plainly see, anyway), yeah, sure, but now I can't walk out my door to get a fucking cheeseburger without being shot at. I've tried to tell the Ballaz I wasn't a Grove, but no. The fuckers shot at me. I tried to tell the Grove that I wasn't a Balla, but no. The fuckers SHOT at me.

But this guy finally did it for me. He was pissing me off.

I was going to get this mother fucker.

And I was going to do it now.

What the hell? I had nothing better to do. Ever since the big mission, Vercetti hasn't contacted me at all. Not for a whole fucking week. I yawned and got out of bed and my phone rang.

I opened it up…

It was Shirley. "Hello?" she said when I picked up.

"Um…hi?"

"Oh, hi! Look…um…I need a place to stay for a while. My … well… let's just say I'm single and not liking it."

I couldn't believe my fucking ears.

"Shirley, how do you fucking expect me to just say 'Oh, ok, go ahead and come on back? After all the shit you did to me, fine, I'll let you back.' How do you expect those words to come out of my mouth?" She told me why. I nearly dropped the phone.

In 4 months, I was going to be a father. After everything, this hit me harder than anything else ever did. After the gang wars, after Heat, after Tommy, after all that, nothing ever made this much of an impact on me. I breathed slowly, my heart nearly stopped…

"I'll come pick you up right now," I heard myself saying. At that point, my conscience was literally beating its fist against my head, screaming "No! No! No!" It was either that, or just the fact that I was hung over. I took a morning after pill, drank a cup of water, and got the fuck out of there.

I gingerly peeked out of my house. Oh, yeah, it was Saturday; the Ballaz must be smoking back at their crack house. No wonder everything was deserted. Well, this was a joyful thing for me, I could pick up my wife (yes, we weren't divorced, just split up) and not get shot at.

Wow, that sounded very bitter-sweet.

Within 10 minutes I was at Escobar International Airport picking up my wife. Shirley got in. She was definitely pregnant; she had gained weight, and she stepped in very carefully. I made sure to drive extra careful for her baby.

It was at that point my heart skipped a couple beats. I was sure Shirley didn't plan this, but it was a Jetz ambush. I swore out the window and pulled up and Uzi. Shirley shrieked. She wasn't used to this; I'd never told her what I did for a living. And somehow, I always thought she knew.

The next couple of minutes are a blur. I turned around and blasted out the window as Shirley yelped. I busted open their wind-shield while going down Highway 69, and then Shirley said what I had expected her to say.

"I don't want our child to be exposed to this kind of shit!"

"Not now, honey!"

"I'm NOT kidding!"

"I SAID NOT NOW!" I shouted as I swerved out of the way of an oncoming truck. Suddenly a tire popped.

Let's make a quick pause in order to re-cap. I was driving on the wrong side of the Highway, with a tire popped, trying to shoot behind me while dodging bullets myself, and pregnant woman was sitting beside me. I was doing 80.

OK, back to the story:

So I swerve and skim the side of a cop. Great, I was fucked. My tire was blown again. But not by the Jet, by the cop.

4 Jets had stolen a cop car and were rolling after me. I had 2 flat tires, soon to be at least three. This is where I made the toughest decision of my life. For what seemed like an hour in 3 seconds, I considered whether or not to just jump off of a packer and into a vacant parking lot.

Guess what I did.

So I swerved and they didn't see it coming and I flew. I looked over to see Shirley perfectly un-harmed, but scared as a mother fucker. I looked back and landed just right into the lot and turned into an alleyway, where I nearly ran over a man.

He was old, probably 50 at least. He stopped me. I glanced at the time: 3:30 PM. He asked if he could have some money, even though he could tell we were busy, but he said he was desperate. With so much on my mind, I pulled out 5 grand. He stared and immediately flooded my mind with "God bless you's." I said "You are very welcome," rather un-enthusiastically and drove off at 50 MPH.

I got home and Shirley immediately went for a shower. I saw the note again.

"_Only Thievery."_

I didn't even give a shit; I wasn't going back out there into that BATTLEZONE. I heard a knock on my door. There was Shirley, still fully clothed, who walked up and kissed me very passionately. I loved every second of it. I probably would have refused but I was so scatter-brained that love was all I needed to help me. I began to kiss her back. We both went through the hallway, still kissing, and undressed in the bathroom.

We made love in the shower for about 4 hours. And I actually loved it as much as I loved it before she got rid of me. I wish I could have denied it.

I walked out of the bathroom and zipped up Shirley's jacket for her. I was very grateful for being alive, with everything happening. But I was so … depressed. Exhausted. I needed to fucking sleep.

I crawled in bed. Oh my, God. It was 9:00. Hm …

"I love you, honey." I heard from the other side of the bed.

I couldn't bring myself to reply.


End file.
